“Miss Marguerite Vine, if you please, Mr Leslie,” said the lady with a ceremonious bow.
“Miss Marguerite Vine then,” cried Leslie angrily, “I cannot discuss this matter with you: I look to Mr Vine.”
“My brother is weak and ill. I am the head of this family, sir, and I have before now told you my intentions respecting my niece.”
“Yes, madam, but you are not her father.”
“I am her father’s sister, and if my memory serves me rightly, I told you that Monsieur De Ligny—”
“Who is Monsieur De Ligny?” said Vine, entering the room slowly.
“Mr Vine, I must appeal to you,” cried Leslie.
“No. It would be indecorous. I have told Mr Leslie, who has been persecuting Louise with his addresses, that it is an outrage at such a time; and that if our child marries there is a gentleman of good French lineage to be studied. That his wishes are built upon the sand, for Monsieur De Ligny—”
“Monsieur De Ligny?”
“A friend of mine,” said Aunt Marguerite quickly.